"Is that him?" Margaery cranes her neck, nearly rising out of her seat to try and peer over the field of other seated graduates. "Over by professor Tarth?"

Sansa rolls her eyes and drags Margaery back down by her sleeve. "I told you, you can meet him after."

"I can't believe you haven't even shown me a picture of your college man." Margaery pouts as she plops back down in her seat, red lips pursing plaintively. Somehow even in her black graduation robe she's vivacious and beautiful, red pumps peeking out under the hem, gold tasseled hat set at a jaunty angle. "It's been five months, Sansa. I thought we were friends. You know how thirsty I've been lately."

Mya Stone leans across from the other side of Margaery and grins at Sansa. "We're all excited to meet him, Sans, though for rather less transparent reasons."

Margaery makes an indignant face, but Sansa grins back at Mya, something giddy thumping in her chest. Mya is a new friend: they have English together, and Sansa had been surprised when the dark haired girl had asked her for help studying after school, and even more surprised when she agreed. They aren't close, but Mya is blunt and honest and fun to be around. And it's nice to have someone else to hang out with besides Margaery, though Sansa finds herself spending less time with Margaery than she used to since Christmas.

It's been five months since Christmas, five months of seeing Jon, of exploring each other in his apartment when Theon isn't around. Though Jon always offers Sansa never has him pick her up, just grabs the bus from school to his apartment. The first couple times he hadn't been home and she'd waited on the stoop with a textbook propped open on her knees until he showed up. When he asked with a frown why she hadn't texted she just hopped to her feet and flashed him an innocent smile and said she didn't mind waiting. After the third time Jon found her there he'd sighed and scrounged a spare key from a drawer. She knows his class and work schedule now, but still gets there before him when she can't face Lysa and her son: lets herself in and makes the apartment neat or cooks something or just sets up her homework on the kitchenette bar.

Sansa bites her lip and glances up at the theater stands. Her mother and Arya have come down for the day, and she's nervous to leave Jon alone with her mother for so long. Arya will be with him at least. "Have you heard from Hightower yet?" She asks Mya.

"Not yet." Mya makes a face. "I've still got my fingers crossed though. You?"

Sansa shakes her head. She's applied to a few schools already: Berkeley, Dartmouth, but Hightower is the one she's hoping for despite the pit of dread in her stomach when she thinks about it. It's a good school, but on the other side of the country and she's not an idiot: she knows what it'll mean for her and Jon. Long distance never works. Every teen drama and sitcom she's ever watched has taught Sansa that.

She's broken out of her thoughts by Willas starting his speech. Despite being her brother Margaery barely seems to notice as she keeps craning her neck to see if she can spy Jon in the audience. Sansa's told her a little about Jon, but otherwise been careful to keep the two of them seperate. It's not that she thinks Margaery would try to steal him away, but Margaery and school are one world and Jon and his apartment another and maybe it's selfish, but for as long as she could she wanted to keep Jon all her own.

Until today. The thought is a giddy thump in her chest, and Sansa tugs again at Margaery's sleeve to keep her from rising in her seat to try and spy him. Margaery pouts yet again and crosses her arms, but seems to be mollified for the moment and settles back in her seat to listen to her brother.

Willas' speech goes quickly. Principle Stannis says a few short, curt words, and then the first row of graduates is rising. One by one they walk on stage to a wave of applause as they're handed their diplomas. Before long it's Sansa's row standing and beginning to shuffle towards the aisle. Mya goes first, her brothers cheering from the audience. Margaery follows her up, striding confidently across the stage. She smiles at the crowd and giving an easy wave for all the world like she's a beauty queen before her adoring fans.

Then it's Sansa's turn.

Her heart thumps painfully against her breastbone as Sansa climbs the steps, giddy energy flushing through her. She manages to not look at the crowd as she crosses the stage, and only once her diploma is in hand does she turn to face them. It takes her a second to pick out Jon and Arya and her mother from the crowd. Jon is grinning and even Arya smiling, fingertips in her mouth as she whistles loudly. Sansa grins and waves, and then quickly strides across the stage and down the opposite side before she loses her nerve.

It's a blur after that, and before Sansa realizes it the last of her classmates has left the stage and everyone's rising from their seats and mingling with the crowd. Mya breaks away to go find her brother and Margaery gives Sansa's arm a quick squeeze before doing the same. It takes a minute of swimming through the swirl of the crowd, and Sansa nearly loses her hat when she bumps into one of Myranda's aunts, but she makes it to the edge of the auditorium where her mother and Jon and Arya stand smiling.

"I'm so proud of you, honey." Her mother wraps her in a hug. She squeezes her and pulls away, blinking back tears as she smoothes back a fringe of Sansa's hair. "You look beautiful."

"Here." Arya thrusts out a bouquet of flowers. "Mom made me hold these the whole time."

Any other day the comment would raise Sansa's hackles, but today she just laughs and swoops down to hug her. Arya makes a retching sound but doesn't resist. Sansa straightens, and finally turns to Jon, who stands with his hands in his pockets, an almost sheepish grin on his face. "Congratulations, Sansa."

For a moment the excitement blooming in Sansa's stomach is almost too much and she's nearly throwing herself at Jon, looping her arms around his neck and pulling him down into a long, deep kiss, not caring that they're surrounded by her classmates and her family, not caring if they get wolf whistles or laughs. But her mother isn't more than a few steps away so Sansa swallows down the giddy ball in her throat and just grins at Jon, a wide, goofy expression she can't bring herself to be embarrassed about. "Thanks."

"We made it, Sansypants!" Margaery reappears from the crowd to give give her a one armed hug. She beams at Arya and Catelyn. "You must be Sansa's family. It's so nice to finally meet you. I'm Margaery, though I'm sure Sansa's told you about all the trouble I get her into."

Catelyn raises an amused eyebrow. "She definitely hasn't, but it's good to meet you anyway, Margaery."

Margaery laughs. She turns from Catelyn to Jon, and something suspiciously like a purr hums from her throat as her eyes look him up and down. She extends a slim hand. "You must be Jon."

Jon's eyebrows twitch, but he reaches out and shakes Margaery's hand. "Yeah. It's nice to meet you."

Margaery tilts her head to the side, gives Jon the coy, curving expressions she uses on guys Sansa recognizes from a hundred parties. "Has Sansa invited you to the party at my house tonight? You should come, we're going to-"

"That guy in the wheelchair is calling for you," Arya breaks in. She points at the far end of the crowd. "I think he needs you."

Margaery pouts but turns and squeezes Sansa's shoulder. "I can't believe you've been holding out on me. You need to tell me everything, you little slut," she whispers with a grin before disappearing into the crowd.

Sansa gives Arya a curious look as her mother and Jon say something to each other. "How did you see Willas over the crowd?"

"I didn't." Arya scowls. "I just don't like her."

Sansa laughs and resists the urge to hug Arya again. Two gestures of affection in one day is more than her sister can bear she knows.

"We should get going if we don't want to miss the reservation." Catelyn glances at her watch. She gives Jon a neutral look. "You said it's fifteen minutes away?"

Jon nods. "It's just around the corner."

Sansa tucks the flowers Arya gave her under her arm as they start to make their way to the edge of the auditorium. Her mother and Arya lead, and Jon falls back to walk beside Sansa, hands stuck in his pockets. Her gives her an amused look. "So that's Margaery?"

"She can be a lot." So close Sansa catches a whiff of Jon's aftershave, the smell she's gotten so used to in the last five months that she finds herself missing it when she's home at Lysa's or at school. And then because her mother is talking to Arya and Sansa can't hold herself back any longer, she darts up and kisses Jon on the cheek. "Thank you for coming."

Jon smiles at her, cheeks flushing. "I wouldn't miss it, Sansa."

"You really work here?" Arya says to Jon with a frown as they enter The Wall. "I didn't know it was so fancy. You really have to wait on all these snobby rich people?"

"Arya," Catelyn admonishes, but she isn't wrong. The Wall is unquestionably head and shoulders over any normal restaurant: white marble floors, intricately carved ice sculptures behind glass panels along the walls, tasteful blue lamps flickering in deep sconces. It's the kind of restaurant their family had gone to a hundred times in their old life, the kind of restaurant Sansa wouldn't have blinked twice at before she learned just how scarce money could be. She shivers and draws her cardigan tighter around her, grateful Jon had warned her how chilly it would be.

"It isn't so bad." Jon musses Arya's hair and crosses to a dour faced man behind a dark paneled desk. "Hey Edd. I made a reservation for four."

"I didn't think you'd make it." Edd says mildly. "You're at table six."

"You know you're supposed to lead us back there, right Edd?"

Edd shrugs. "You know the way."

Jon snorts and waves them over. Table six is a booth table against the wall, and Sansa is careful to let her mother slide in before her so she can buffer between her and Jon.

"Can I get you started on something to drink?" A blonde server draws a notepad from her black half apron as she moves to their table. She arches an eyebrow as she catches sight of Jon. "I didn't know it'd be you. Thank God, these heels are killing me."

"Hey, Val. These are the Starks. Most of them, anyway."

"Oh? The much talked about Starks?" Val taps her pen towards Arya. "Arya, right?" Without waiting for an answer she swivels to Sansa. Her eyebrow arches faintly as her eyes move up Sansa in a slow sweep. "And you must be Sansa."

And you're Val. Out of the corner of her eye Sansa sees Jon redden. Standing in front of their booth it's impossible not to take in just how tall and effortlessly statuesque Val is even in just black slacks and crisp white shirt, cheekbones high and haughty like some kind of norse frost maiden. Jon's an adult. You're still in highschool, a familiar voice whispers in the back of Sansa's head, but it's harder to hear than it once was, faint and faraway, and she smiles at Val. "I am."

A smile plays along Val's lips, and she throws Jon a knowing look, something teasing in it, before turning back to the table as a whole. "What do you want to drink?"

Catelyn orders wine, the rest of them water (though not before Arya asks if she can have beer). Their drinks have only just barely arrived when another server comes by to say hello to Jon: a broad shouldered guy about his age called Grenn, quickly followed by the shorter Pyp, who himself in turn is followed by the dark haired Alys. With each new arrival Jon looks more and more self conscious and sinks further into his seat. Alys moves to another table and Sansa reaches under the table where her mother can't see and squeezes Jon's hand, quirks her lips when he glance at her. "Someone's popular."

"The crew here is like that," Jon mutters sheepishly. "I'm just glad Tormund's not on shift. He's… loud."

"I still want to meet him." Arya announces from the other side of Sansa. "He's the one with the beard, right?"

Sansa looks out the rest of the restaurant as Jon confirms that he is. It's strange to think of Jon here waiting on tables or carrying out plates of food, even after all the times she's seen him return to his apartment in black slacks and white shirt. It's easier to picture him there: on the couch with an arm around her as she curls next to him when they watch a movie, or frowning down at a book for class as she sits at a right angle to him with a textbook of her own and the tips of her feet tucked warm under his leg, or mouth quirking in a smile as he cups her face in his hands and kisses her and she fists her fingers in his shirt and pulls him down.

Sansa looks down, a sudden ache lodged in her throat. It's easier to picture Jon that way, but in just a month or two picturing him is all she'll be able to do. You'll be across the country and he'll still be here serving tables and taking lunch breaks with girls called Val. After Joffrey she'd sworn she would never again let herself be that silly girl that fantasized about life and marriage and kids, but she can't help it sometimes when she's curled into Jon's side in his bed or on the couch, his hand stroking her hair, can't help but wonder what it would be like if it could always be like this.

Val brings the food and Sansa forces herself to smile. Today is a good day. Don't ruin it. She cuts her food as Arya begins stuffing into her mouth the french fries she insisted on ordering despite their mother's protestations that she needed to eat something real. On her part her Catelyn sips from her wine glass between every few bites, a slower pace than she had at Christmas. Sansa eyes her glass. She still feels it, the scratch at the back of her throat that only wine or schnapps can ease, but it's easier to resist now, easier to ignore after months of afternoons spent at Jon's apartment. Theon's in AA and Jon doesn't drink and without anything in easy reach she's had to learn how to swallow back the scratch in her throat when it comes at the end of a long day.

They're mostly done with their food when Sansa excuses herself to go the bathroom, Arya predictably huffing that she has to get out of the booth first. It's in the back of the restaurant down a long hall by the kitchen. She washes her hands and comes back out into the hallway to find Arya standing outside. "You shouldn't leave him alone with mom," Sansa admonishes as she closes the door behind him. "You know how much they don't get along."

Arya gives her a look. "You two are embarrassing."

"What are you talking about?"

"The two of you. The way you keep mooning over each other." Arya sniffs. "I'm ok with it though. Mostly."

Sansa purses her lips. "Well thank God we have your blessing."

Arya gives her a long, dark eyed look. "Have you told him you're going out of state for your degree?"

Sansa sighs and leans back against the wall. "Yes, Arya, he knows."

"And? Are you two staying together?"

Sansa resist the urge to snap out that it's none of her business and instead blows out a sigh and looks down. She fiddles with the sleeve of her cardigan. "Long distance never works."

Arya arches an eyebrow. "Are you planning on cheating on him?"

"What? No!" Sansa jerks her head up. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, Jon's not going to cheat on you. He doesn't have it in him."

"It's not that, Arya. He's going to have his life and I'm going to have mine." Still fiddling with her sleeve, Sansa looks down the hall, voices her voice light and airy. "It's ok. It happens. We're both adults."

Arya gives her a flat eyed look. "I know what you're doing."

"And what's that?" Sansa snaps sharper than she meant to. She forces herself to stop fiddling with her sleeve and straighten. "Tell me, Arya. Tell me what I'm doing."

"What you always do. Just talk to him, Sansa. How many times do I have to tell you? Jon's good. He'll listen."

"I know he will." The words catch in Sansa's throat. She swallows down the lump that's risen in it. "I know he will," she starts again, voice smaller. "And I know he is. But that doesn't mean he'll want to try and make it work. I just- I don't want him to-" To regret me. To resent me. To hate me. But even saying the words are too much and so Sansa just looks down and shakes her head. "I don't want him to say no."

Arya doesn't answer. After a second, she crosses the hall and leans against the wall beside Sansa. And though she knows Arya's already used up her physical contact quota for the day, Sansa lays her head on top of Arya's. Arya doesn't pull away and they stand like that for a long minute, silent and side by side, the faint chatter and clang of the kitchen filling the hall. "We should talk more." Sansa says quietly.

"Yeah." Arya shifts her weight from one leg to the other. "Does it have to be with each other?"

"Yes with each other, dummy." Sansa bumps her shoulder. "Would that be so bad?"

Arya makes a noncommittal noise, and Sansa smiles, a warmth in her chest, and pushes off the wall. "Come on. I don't know what you were thinking leaving Jon alone with mom."

AN: Follow my tumblr at tacitwhisky for previews of upcoming chapters and fics.